


this burning flame has been burnt enough

by everythingislove (narrylife)



Series: save you right back [2]
Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-22 06:37:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11961783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/narrylife/pseuds/everythingislove
Summary: Even learns more about Isak's childhood.





	this burning flame has been burnt enough

**Author's Note:**

> thank you all so much for the response to the first work in this verse! it means the world to me :)
> 
> (tw for: untreated mental illness and a consequential episode, very vaguely implied homophobia, and child abuse*)
> 
> *both physical and mental/emotional. in the normal text, it's implied and briefly described, but not in detail. in the italicized font, it's a flashback written in more detail—including fairly graphic descriptions of violence.

Even loves the little details of Isak.

He studies the constellations of freckles that adorn his milky skin, the soft tufts of hair that cling to his forehead after sex, and the subtle gaps between his teeth when he smiles. He savors every piece of Isak, and makes sure to file every inch of him to memory.

They're on the brink of sleep when he makes a new discovery. He's carefully combing through the baby hairs at the nape of Isak's neck when he sees a scar poking out at the bottom. He pauses his movements, using the pad of his thumb to brush over it tenderly.

Isak flinches immediately.

"Does that hurt?" Even asks softly, lowering his touch so that he's cupping the back of his neck instead. "I'm sorry."

Isak's silent for a moment, as if he can't figure out how to answer that question. "It doesn't hurt physically anymore."

The admission makes Even want to cry. The thing is, Isak doesn't share much about himself. Most of what he knows, he's had to learn from inferences based on vague answers to direct questions. It's never bothered Even, but it makes moments like this where Isak is opening up all the more special. But he also knows what his words are implying; the scar doesn't bring him physical pain, but it does bring him pain of another variety.

"How did you get it?" He prompts, cautiously. He knows that if Isak doesn't want to (or can't) answer, he'll pretend Even never asked at all.

"I—" Isak's voice is pinched, like he's trying to keep himself composed. "I got it when I was twelve."

Even nods in acknowledgement, waiting.

"I came out to my parents." He blurts, the words running together.

And, well. That's definitely not what Even had been expecting.

As far as Even knew, hell, as far as  _anyone_  knew, Isak had been deep in the closet until he was at least sixteen. People may have guessed that he was gay, but nothing had been confirmed until Even came along.

He's confused, but even that can't trump the dread pooling in the depths of his stomach.

"They aren't homophobic," Isak says, like he's trying to convince himself. "I know they're alright with gay people. But it's complicated."

"Okay." Even says, slowly. 

Isak puffs his cheeks out momentarily, exhaling the air. It doesn't ease the obvious tension he's feeling, but it does seem to help him continue. "It's like—they said it was fine, but they didn't mean it. They didn't believe me, or they didn't want to believe me."

As Isak falls silent again, Even's mind unintentionally wanders. He had known from the start that something about Isak's home life was very wrong; most sixteen year olds didn't move into a shared apartment without good motivation. When their relationship progressed, he noticed how pale Isak seemed to get whenever his phone chimed with a text from his Mamma or Pappa, and that he never expressed any interest in Even meeting them. 

After Isak admitting he'd been diagnosed with PTSD just a few weeks ago, it appeared things were even more severe than he had assumed.

"My mom is sick, you know that." 

Even refocuses his gaze on Isak as he continues again.

"She refuses treatment. She signs herself out of every hospital, she refuses medications, and she won't attend therapy." Isak swallows thickly. "When she gets stressed, since she's not getting help, she'll act out."

"Act out?" Even prompts.

"She'll see things that aren't there. Demons or evil spirits, most of the time." Isak says, his eyes trailing to the ceiling and then back to Even. "She claws at the walls and throws things. Sometimes she knows who you are, and sometimes she doesn't. She gets very violent, but it's only because she's scared."

"That sounds very difficult." Even murmurs, smoothing his hand down Isak's bare back.

Isak shrugs slightly; the way he does when he agrees with something but is too shy to admit it. "Pappa has a hard time dealing with that—with her—with us."

He gets a faraway look in his eyes then, and they visibly fill with tears. Before Even can try and comfort him, though, Isak is rapidly blinking them away.

"So I came out to them when I was twelve, and both of them got stressed." He clears his throat. "Mamma started having one of her episodes, which upset Pappa. He doesn't know how to help her when she gets like that, so he said we needed to leave her alone."

We went upstairs, and he said, 'Isak, if you like boys, that's fine. But lying like you are is stressing Mamma out.' I said, 'I'm not lying, Pappa. I like Jonas.' He wouldn't believe me, and he told me, 'You know we don't tolerate lying in this house, I know I don't have a gay son.' And then he shoved me into the wall."

"And that's how you got the scar?" Even guesses.

"No." Isak presses his lips into a thin line, like he doesn't know if he wants to share more or not. "I got the scar when my dad beat the shit out of me right after that."

Even opens his mouth, then shuts it. He's never been speechless before, but right now, he can't seem to find the right words to say. He feels physically sick on behalf of his boyfriend.

"Shit, Issy." He breathes.

"He was passive aggressive like that a lot." Isak admits, "He'd say things like 'that's fine, Isak, but do you really want to stress Mamma out?' Or he'd blame me for things that I wasn't involved in to begin with. And I knew, I  _knew_  better than to press him when he got like that, but I needed to say it. I needed to get it off my chest."

"Did he do that a lot? Not the verbal abuse, but the—the physical abuse?" Even questions, biting the inside of his cheek. He feels completely useless, doesn't know how to make thing any better for him. "It was never your fault, Isak. You've got to know that."

"I wouldn't call it abuse. It was stress." Isak says, frowning. "And of course some of it was my fault. What's that American saying? Don't poke a sleeping bear?"

His words sound so matter of fact, but Even can see that he's not okay. His breaths are coming faster, and his eyes are still glossy with unshed tears. He's trying to deflect, maybe because he doesn't want to think about it.

"Isak, it was never okay for him to talk to you like that, let alone put a hand on you." Even looks right into his eyes when he says it, then shakes his head. "Even though your Mamma is sick, it's not okay if she ever did that sort of thing, either."

"Can we be done with this conversation now?" Isak pleads.

"You don't have to share anymore." Even promises, cupping Isak cheek with a tender touch. "I only need you to know that what they did wasn't okay."

"But—"

"There's no 'but' to this." Even says firmly. "I think it's something you should bring up in your therapy session tomorrow. I really believe that it'll help you."

A stray tear finally dribbles down Isak's cheek, but Even's thumb catches it before it can properly fall. Their gazes hold, pure love and empathy between them.

"That wasn't the only time." Isak whispers.

Even thinks of how many stories the boys have told him about Isak being a clumsy kid, coming to school with new bruises and scrapes every week because of his lanky limbs. He thinks of the time Isak bailed out in the middle of a film about domestic violence, claiming dinner hadn't agreed with him. He thinks of Isak's involuntary flinches from loud noises and quick movements—something he had always blamed on his sensitive hearing and a traumatizing game of football when he was younger.

He thinks of the lies, and can feel his chest ache.

"I know." He whispers back, leaning forward until their foreheads are resting together. "I'm right here, okay? Always."

Isak's lips quirk into a wobbly smile, "Isak and Even,"

"–minute by minute." Even finishes.

-

_"I like Jonas." Isak says, just like that, at dinner on an otherwise typical evening._

_He's only twelve, and maybe too naive to realize the impact of saying those words out loud for the first time. All he knows is that he has a crush on Jonas, and his parents (albeit mainly Mamma) are always asking him if he likes any of the girls in his class. What difference should it make if he likes Jonas instead?_

_"We know you like Jonas, honey. He's your best friend." Marianne says, chuckling quietly. "You know what the Bible says about friendship—"_

_"I don't mean I like him as a friend." Isak says, his voice raising slightly. He looks between his parents with a sheepish expression, "I like him as more than a friend."_

_"Isak." Terje sighs. "Don't joke like that."_

_"It's not a joke!" He defends, his eyes widening. "I really like Jonas. I want to kiss him."_

_Everything happens in a blur after that._

_His Mamma presses her hands over her ears, shaking her head and chanting bible verses under her breath. Pappa keeps cursing, yelling at her to 'shut the fuck up!' and if he weren't so scared, Isak would have told him to do the same thing._

_As is, he helplessly watches the chaos unfold._

_After a few minutes of screaming, Terje seems to realize that Marianne is too far gone to listen to him. He walks around the table, grabbing Isak by the bicep and yanking him out of the chair._

_Isak cries out, but with one withering look from Pappa he clamps it back shut again. His grip might hurt, but he knows from experience that things can get much worse very quickly. It's better for everyone if he stays quiet._

_"We need to leave Marianne alone now that you've stressed her out." Terje says gruffly, pushing him into the bathroom. "Isak, if you like boys, that's fine. But lying like you are is stressing Mamma out."_

_Isak digs his nails into the palms of his hands, trying to rid the trembling sensation. He's scared, terrified, even, but he doesn't need Pappa knowing that. "I'm not lying, Pappa. I like Jonas." He says quietly._

_Terje's jaw visibly tightens. "You know we don't tolerate lying in this house, I know I don't have a gay son."_

_He knows the shove is coming, but he doesn't have enough time to defend himself. His head smacks the towel rack with an unnatural crack. He groans at the pain, crumbling to the ground and shielding the back of his head with both hands._

_"Get the fuck up." Terje yanks him up by the collar of his shirt, ignoring how the boy isn't supporting any of his own weight. "You need to learn not to lie, Isak! You can't seem to do anything good!"_

_"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." He chokes out, tears steadily falling. "Please, Pappa. I won't be gay, I won't like Jonas. Pappa!"_

_Terje punches him. Normally it's only smacks and kicks and too tight grips, but now it's a real blow right to jaw. He cries out, collapsing once again when his father releases the hold on his shirt._

_It doesn't stop. He's kicked and shaken, and Isak can feel warm blood coating the back of his neck from a particularly awful hit. Eventually, his vision starts to swarm, little stars popping up near the ceiling around his father's head._

_The world fades from gray, to black, to oblivion._

_He doesn't dream, but he wakes up some time later surrounded by smears of his own blood. It smells awful, and his stomach churns from an awful mix of the sight and his head trauma._

_He knows from movies and TV shows that he can't go to the doctor, because they'll ask too many probing questions. Pappa and Mamma love him deep down, he knows they do, and he can't be the one to get them into any trouble. If he's better, things like this won't happen anymore._

_When he can sit up without the world tilting with him, he gets onto unsteady feet and grips the counter. The mirror is partially broken (did he get slammed into that? He can't remember.) but he manages to get a glimpse of himself. He's going to have plenty of bruises and scabs, but the only bad injury seems to be a deep laceration on the back of his head._

_It probably needs stitches, like when Jonas crashed into a tree while snowboarding and had to get them on his chin. But—no doctors._

_He grabs one of the hand towels discarded on the floor, wets it, and gingerly places it to the back of his neck. It hurts like hell, but it's better than any needles and nosey doctors, he reasons._

_It'll heal eventually. He just hopes his heart will, too._

**Author's Note:**

> hope you all enjoyed! i love hearing your feedback, so if you have any, please let me know. i'm working on some less angsty evak works too, i promise<3


End file.
